


You Do Something To Me

by stylesforstiles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylesforstiles/pseuds/stylesforstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis goes to Paris to learn how to speak French, but also meets a green eyed boy that wants his picture...and maybe takes a piece of his heart too</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Do Something To Me

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is one of the songs from the movie Midnight in Paris :) This fic is also based of this prompt from tumblr, I hope I did it justice! 
> 
> louisoblinson.tumblr.com/post/53812487460/tomlinfox-the-one-where-louis-is-a-foreign

Louis’ mind had all but been turned into mush by this point in his day. The trip to Paris hadn’t been long, being just a short train ride away from London, but with all of the packing, trying to remember all of his essentials such as his phone charger and the like, he felt like a zombie by the time he had arrived. He was a bit disorientated at the train station, seeing that it was his first time in Paris, he didn’t speak a word of French _and_ he had to find the student housing he was supposed to be living in for the next couple of months.

Luckily there were a few helpful workers at the train station, and as it turned out he didn’t have to travel too far from there. Thank goodness for small miracles. He found the building easily enough and before he could mutter his first bonjour to his flat mate, he was being dragged out into the lobby for a student meet up about their outing for the day. As tired as he was, he supposed there was no time like the present than to start improving his French, and by improving he actually meant learning it.

They started out in Eiffel Tower Park, naturally, and Louis’ train of thought had already started to wander not even halfway through their guide’s speech. He stuffed his map in his back pocket and milled about the edge of the park a little bit a ways from his group, eyeing up the different food vendors and felt his stomach clench and rumble at the sight. He suddenly remembered he hadn’t had anything to eat since he had left that morning and the need for immediate nourishment overtook his common sense at the moment. The group would wait for him right?

One panini and a crepe later he realized that no, they really didn’t wait for him. He turned in a circle, searching for any face that would be even just a little bit familiar. No such luck.

“Fuck. This would happen to me on my first day here,”

He wandered back into the park and plopped down on the grass in defeat. He leaned back on his elbows and admired the tower; he figured he might as well since he was there. He simply stared at it for a while, muting out the sounds of the park around him to just appreciate the history that was standing in front of him. However, that got boring after a while, so he pulled out his map, pretending that he knew what he was looking for on it. There was a word that caught his eye though.

“Ah yes, the Louvre. Well that much I can do, it can’t be that hard to get there right?”

He concentrated on the map a little longer, hoping it would somehow magically show him the way like in Harry Potter, but he only gave himself a further headache. He sighed and glanced around, wondering who could help him decipher the Metro lines. He scanned his surroundings, when he finally landed on a fellow that was snapping pictures of anything but the Eiffel Tower. Louis watched as he focused his camera on a couple that were sunning themselves on a blanket, having a private conversation with each other as this boy captured their intimate moment.

When he pulled the camera away from his face he smiled to himself, a dimple denting one of his cheeks, his curls like a halo shining in the golden afternoon sun. Louis found himself gravitating towards this beautiful stranger, clearing his throat when he was finally a few feet away from him. He startled him out of his concentration on whatever he was going to take a picture of next, his eyes wide and mossy green.

Louis hesitated, bouncing up and down on his heels nervously. “Umm hello, oh uh, bonjour I mean. Parlez-vous anglais?

The boy smiled softly, and Louis may have even detected a hint of a laugh due to his horrible accent.

“Oui. Yes I speak English,”

Louis was taken aback by his deep, syrupy voice. That was not what he had expected to hear out of him. He shook off the shivers that crawled up and down his skin, giving him a smile back. “Oh thank god. I’m a bit lost here, I was with a tour group, but they seem to have left me, my own fault really. Do you mind helping me figure out the Metro?” Louis bit his lip to shut up himself up. He was rambling. He often rambled when very cute boys were present.

The boy’s smile only deepened. He nodded his head, and Louis watched with fascination as his curls bounced around. “Of course. Where are you trying to go?”

“The Louvre. That’s a good start to my first day in Paris, yeah?”

Those green eyes sparkled as they took in Louis’ face thoughtfully. “How about I make you a deal? I’ll take you there, teach you some French, and in exchange you’ll let me take your picture,”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Why do you want to take my picture?”

He shrugged, fiddling with the camera strap around his neck. “I like to take everyone’s picture. People are fascinating.”

Louis hesitated briefly before shrugging and extending a hand. “Sure, you have a deal…I’m Louis by the way,”

The boy gave him a goofy grin, shaking his hand back eagerly. “C'est magnifique! Je suis Harry.”

Louis huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I guess we’re starting the French lessons already then?”

Harry blushed, looking down at his feet before meeting Louis’ eyes again. “Sorry…habit and all that,”

“You’ll be sorry when you realize how shit I am at French, you don’t have to be sorry for speaking it yourself, love. That’s what this experiment is all about after all."

Harry blushed again and Louis felt a tiny flutter in his stomach that he pushed away. “Oui.”

Louis gave him a double thumbs up for lack of anything better to do with his hands, which kind of wanted to reach out and touch the dimple that was taunting him or one of those unruly curls. “Brilliant! To the Louvre then Harry, let’s go get our culture on,”

Harry shook his head as he quickly snapped a photo of him. “You’re a funny boy, Louis.”

And you’re a gorgeous one Harry.

But Louis decided to keep that to himself for now.

*

Louis was pretty sure he could have eventually found the Louvre on his own, but this was so much better. Harry got his obligatory picture of Louis before he was being dragged inside by an overly excited Louis, who insisted that they go to the gift shop first. Harry was walking behind him quietly listening as he babbled about how gift shops were really the best part about museums in the first place, sometimes you didn’t even _need_ to see the art, but he supposed he should because the Mona Lisa and all that, and Harry couldn’t help but bite his lip to hide the smiles that kept wanting to breakout on his face.

However, Louis’ exuberant mood seemed to dwindle pretty quickly after they were almost a quarter of the way through the Egypt exhibits, causing Harry to struggle with hiding his fond smiles. Louis waved a hand around erratically, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Are you fucking kidding me, what’s even left in Egypt? Clearly nothing seeing as it’s all here, how long does this fucking section go on for? Guess I can cross visiting this country off my list, Jesus!”

Harry’s was clutching his sides as he shook with laughter over Louis’ tirade. “Shhh, there are children around, vous devez regarder votre langue, Louis,”

He narrowed his eyes, jabbing a finger at him. “I don’t need to speak French to know you’re telling me to stop swearing,”

Harry only giggled harder, placing his hand gently on Louis’ shoulder to guide him along. “I think we should move to a different section.”

Which really didn’t help either, because Louis was back to his grumbling again soon enough.

“How many paintings of fucking dinner parties or naked babies can there be in this world? That better be the Mona Lisa over there, I’m so done with culture for today.”

Harry rolled his eyes as Louis stalked over to the crowd in front of the painting, standing up on his tip toes to get a better look. He threw his hands up in the air, his lips in a pout when he walked back over to Harry.

“It’s not even that big. And here I thought I only had those words reserved for bad one night stands,”

Harry almost choked, his eyes wide as he looked at Louis with astonishment. “I think you need a drink.”

Louis hooked his arm in his, a real smile finally spreading all the way up to his eyes, making them crinkle at the sides. “Now you’re speaking my language, Harry.”

*

They stopped at a corner café and grabbed a couple of pints and a patio seat, settling down to enjoy the warm afternoon sun. Louis took a sip of his beer, humming with satisfaction as he tilted his head up towards the sun.

“Now see this is much better. Suppose I’m not as into art as I thought I would be,”

Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his drink as well. “That was apparent, yes.” Harry drew a line through the condensation on his glass, chewing on his lip in thought. He glanced back up at Louis, teeth still nervously playing with his lip. “So, there’s this place over by the park that has the best spaghetti bolognaise like, ever if you wanted to do that before you go back?”

Louis perked up. “Yeah? I love spaghetti; that sounds great!” He tipped his glass to Harry’s, offering him a cheers. “Thanks for today mate, you’ve been really cool,”

Harry blushed again, waving him off. “It’s no problem, really. Thanks for letting me take your picture…merci beaucoup.”

Louis threw some money on the table, stretching his arm over his head. He didn’t notice Harry dart his eyes down to the sliver of skin from where his t shirt rode up, before coughing into his fist and looking away. He did catch his eyes after, a huge grin on his face. “Not sure why you’d want so many picture of my ugly mug, but you’re welcome nonetheless.”

And when Louis chewed on his pasta a little while later, sipping his wine and happily people watching, swinging his legs back and forth under the chair, Harry knew exactly why he was taking so many pictures of him.

He told him as much when they stood outside the restaurant to part ways, his blue eyes startling in the pale light of dusk.

“Vous avez les plus beaux yeux que j'aie jamais vu.”

Louis cocked an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “One day I’m going to know what that means, you know,”

Harry leaned in closer, placing a soft kiss on each of his cheeks, “I hope so.”

*

They made plans to meet up again the next day, Louis deciding on the Père Lachaise cemetery this time, with Harry giving him a mocking smile as he snapped his photo outside the gates.

“So, you would rather hang around dead people than famous works of art, is that it?”

“Harry, some of these people _were_ works of art.” He added a sassy hip pop for the picture just for good measure.

They walked through the cemetery mostly in silence, the only sounds being the birds chirping high up in the trees, Harry’s camera going off every few minutes, and the murmurs of conversation of people around them. It was really nice, despite the morbid surroundings. 

Harry leaned against a nearby tree as he waited for Louis to get a look at Jim Morrison’s grave, a sad look on his face when he returned.

“It’s a shame really that people can’t respect these grounds. Makes you wonder about the world today,” He scratched his head, looking absently at the crowd of people. “Who vandalizes graves, honestly.”

Harry squeezed his arm, bringing him out of his thoughts on the state of the world. Louis blinked up at him, admiring the perfect cupid’s bow of his lips. No don’t admire that Louis. He moved up to his eyes and thought no. That wasn’t easier either. He sighed inwardly, waiting for Harry to speak.

“Let’s go on a champagne boat cruise,”

Louis put his fingers to his mouth, making an exaggerated kissing noise. “Bellissima!”

Harry groaned, smacking a hand on his forehead. “You really are shit at this French thing,”

Louis placed a hand on his chest, leaning up to whisper in his ear, the curls sticking out on his beanie tickling his nose.

“So make me better, then.”

*

The days turned into weeks, and before Louis knew it he was spending almost every single one of them with Harry…and every time it was getting just a little bit harder to keep his hands or lips off of him. He would glance at him out of the corner of his eye as he tasted a freshly made chocolate tart at the farmers market, watching his tongue snake out to catch a piece of chocolate that had fallen on him and Louis desperately wanted to know what it tasted like on his lips.

He watched him try on jeans as the shopped along the Champs-Élysées one afternoon, and Louis stood outside the change room and let his mind wander to that unsafe place where he envisioned pushing Harry up against the mirror as he dropped to his knees, looking up at his face as he teased him with his mouth, wanting, no, needing to see what his expression was when Louis made him come.

The hardest day was when they got wonderfully drunk on cheap wine while they picnicked in Eiffel Tower Park, Harry’s cheeks flushed rosy and bright from the alcohol as he tackled Louis to the ground in a fight for the last macaroon. Louis went for his ribs, tickling him mercilessly until he was wheezing out breaths. Louis sat back on his thighs, triumphantly placing the macaroon on his tongue. Harry’s breathing evened out, but his eyes followed the flick of Louis’ tongue, making him lick his own out across his lips.

Louis looked down at the light green of his irises, almost looking grey in the light of that day, the hint of freckles dusting across the bridge of his slender nose, and the dimple that was starting to form in the side of his cheek and he suddenly hoped that he would become fluent in French just so he could write heartfelt poems about this achingly lovely and fascinating boy underneath him and give them to him every day.

Instead, he rolled off of him and sprawled out on his back and looked up at the sky; crawling his fingers over to find Harry’s as he heard the familiar click of a camera, and ignored the pang in his heart knowing that days like this were going to be coming to an end soon.

*

On Louis’ last night there, Harry finally indulged him and took him to the Moulin Rouge, his grumbling and complaining very eerily similar to Louis’.

“Lou, the show is terrible; I don’t know why you want to waste your money there,”

Louis bumped shoulders with him as they crossed the street, even the slightest touch spreading warmth though out his body. “Harry, I couldn’t leave Paris without going; it’s one of my favourite movies!”

Harry snorted, but smiled at him fondly regardless. “It’s really not like the movie Lou, just…you’ll see.”

Afterwards when they were having a nightcap at the Irish pub next door, Louis frowned furiously into his beer, mumbling against the glass. “Bloody hell, I hate it when you’re right,”

Harry scooted closer, an evil grin spreading across his face. “What was that, Louis, parler de l'amour.”

Louis turned his head away, if only to hide the smile he has only come to know as his ‘Harry smile’ “I’ll never tell.” Once his face was back in the safe zone he looked over at Harry, shrugging up a shoulder, “Besides, shouldn’t you be nice to me on my last night here?”

Harry bit his lip, dropping his head to look at his fingers that were twisting around each other. “Do you think it would be okay if I came to the train station with you tomorrow?”

He still wasn’t looking at Louis when he felt his fingers under his chin, bringing it up so he could see his eyes again. “Rien ne me plairait plus,”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he threw his arms around Louis’, pulling him against his chest. “So you _were_ actually listening to me, I’m so proud!”

“Course I did, you were a right pain in the arse sometimes if you don’t remember.”

Harry pinched his side, which only got him a harder pinch back. “Wanker.”

Louis nuzzled into his neck, trying to get as close as possible to Harry, trying not to think of how at the same time tomorrow he’d be back at home in London, seeing the same familiar faces that he always had, but none of them being the one that he truly wanted.

“That’s lovable wanker to you.”

*

Leaving Harry at the train station was hard, but being home and going about his daily routine when he had gotten so used to doing it with him was even harder. When he went to the grocery store to do some much needed shopping, there wasn’t a mop of curls standing nearby, carefully picking out the pieces of fruit that he liked with his painfully slow inspection process, or twisting the caps off of the bottle of wine they were buying and taking a sneaky sip while wiggling his eyebrows at Louis, who would smack him playfully saying ‘you’re ridiculous’.

He was on his way home from his favourite coffee shop, hoping that a disgustingly sugary drink would help cheer him up, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was a picture message from Harry. He opened it and furrowed his brow, tilting his head back and forth as he looked at it.

“Why is he sending me cryptic pictures of train stations?”

He said exactly that in the text that he typed out to him and pocketed the phone to pull open the door to his apartment building. He climbed the stairs with a heavy heart, because even just a picture message form Harry made him feel like a limb was missing.

He turned the corner to his hallway, twirling his keys in his hand when he saw a figure sitting against his front door, ankles crossed in front of him. He dropped them on the floor and the person whipped their head in Louis’ direction at the sound. Louis felt like he was glued to the spot, his heart beating so fast that he was almost certain his ribs could feel it.

“Harry…”

Harry was already on his feet, his hands clutching onto the sides of Louis’ face, his eyes wide and frantic as he tried to take in every inch of Louis’ face in mere seconds.

“Why the fuck didn’t we do this in Paris?”

Louis didn’t get to answer because Harry’s mouth was already on his, his lips soft and his taste exactly how Louis had imagined it to be, too much and not enough, like strawberry candies and mint and maybe something that was just so Paris, as if Louis could imagine being there right now kissing him in Eiffel Tower Park on a blanket set across the damp grass, or late at night in the arch of the Arch de Triumphe, or in the early morning sun pressed up against the glass of bakery as they waited for it to open. And he never wanted it to end.

*

Louis glanced at the tornado of clothes that were covering his bedroom and smiled to himself, looking over at Harry in the crumpled sheets of his bed, his hair all sexed up, his eyes half lidded and a content little smile curving up his lips. Louis stroked a hand through his curls, dragging it down until he was cupping on of his cheeks. He smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone as Harry hummed softly, leaning into it.

“Is it always this easy, Harry?”

A look of confusion spread across his face. “Is what always this easy?”

“Falling in love…” Louis swallowed thickly. “With Paris…I miss it so much…missed it…I missed it.”

Because you’re here now, and you _are_ Paris for me Louis thought to himself. He watched as Harry’s feature’s lit up with understanding; that he knew exactly what Louis was trying to say to him.

“Of course Lou…it’s the city of love after all.”

Louis inched closer, folding himself into Harry, resting his head against his chest. He nodded, not knowing if Harry felt it at all, though it was more for himself really. Nodding, because he loved this boy who taught him to speak French; who took hundreds of pictures of Louis that he had never seen. Because maybe he didn’t need to…because maybe that was Harry’s way of linking Louis to Paris. And Louis didn’t need to see them to know he loved him too.

“Yeah it is, isn’t it.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you for reading, here are the translations for what Harry and Louis say French in case you were curious!
> 
> Vous avez les plus beaux yeux que j'aie jamais vu - You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen
> 
> Rien ne me plairait plus- Nothing would please me more


End file.
